


Don't Mess With Texas, or Mr. Sacks

by ReachForTheStars



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, Sunless Sea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 15:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13321194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReachForTheStars/pseuds/ReachForTheStars
Summary: On surface, you cut Gordian knot. In Neath, Gordian knot cut you.





	Don't Mess With Texas, or Mr. Sacks

The Blind Helmsman has a tendency to attract all sorts of odd characters, Fallen London being what it is. A man with a massive cowboy hat, a handlebar mustache, cowboy boots, an equally inordinately sized crossbow slung across his back, and a medieval broadsword in a belt scabbard, was perhaps six of ten on the scale of bizarre people, and things that weren't people, that come here. He sat alone at the bar, drinking steadily, and staring at the wall.

Nonetheless, I was curious. Curiosity was a good way to make money in the Neath. It was also an even better way to get yourself killed, but as I was back in Fallen London, that was not what it might have been as a cause for concern. I asked the barman about him.

"Him? He's from America someplace, originally. Tez-ass, or some such. Had a nasty encounter with...the Crimson Beast. Buy him another drink and he'll tell you all about it."

I did just that, and the man (who said his name was Hank) was soon telling his woeful story. I omit the quite extreme Texas accent, mainly because I do not wish to dignify such an abuse of the English language with paper and ink. I also omit the periodic bursts of tears.

"So I was walking down the street one fine day, or night, or whatever it is down here...anyhow, I came across that abomination [he had some difficulty pronouncing this word] Mr. Sacks. He came up right in front of me with a sack, and he started telling me to 'give'. I'd heard of this thing, and I reckoned I could do folks around these parts a favor." He took another long drink.

"So I pulled out my Colt. And I pointed it, right between his eyes I'd say, except he don't seem to have no eyes, and I said: 'Well, Mr. Sacks, y'all can take my bullets.' And I pulled the trigger." His drink drunk, he coaxed me into buying him another to hear the rest of his tale.

"Well, the bullet hit him; I saw it go through that hood straighter than anything. But he didn't die. He didn't even seem to feel it or nothing. So I said, 'well, doggone it!' So I pulled back the hammer, and I pulled that trigger again. And I hit him again, but that bullet didn't do nothing either. So I said to him, or it, 'Well, you're a stubborn cuss, ain't ya?'"

At this point, an argument between a Khaganian and a Londoner in another part of the bar escalated to them striking one another with furniture. After the barman and his guard had unceremoniously ejected both of them, the Texan continued his tale.

"He didn't say nothing. He just went away again. So I pulled the hammer back, fixing to shoot him a third time, though I reckoned that wouldn't do nothing neither. But there wasn't no cartridge in that chamber. Now I knew that weren't right, cause I always load up my revolver real thorough. So I checked all the cylinders, and there weren't no cartridges in any of them. I checked my pockets, cause I'd made certain to have some extra cartridges, like any Texan would, and there weren't none there either."

He spoke faster at this point, trying to finish his tale before another bout of emotion could come.

"I went to a shop and bought more cartridges, except soon as I put them in my pockets, or in my gun, they plumb disappeared. Every last one. Any time I loaded up a gun, the cartridges would be gone quicker than a jackrabbit. If I took a gun from some other fellow, sure enough, the same doggone thing would happen. He sure took my bullets, all right."

He gestured to his back.

"I use this now. But it ain't the same. It just ain't the same!"

He collapsed on the bar, weeping. I soon realized I would get nothing more from him, and resumed my main purpose there: finding a likely lass.

 


End file.
